Redflame’s eyes narrowed on Artien threateningly. He gripped the shoulder of the accuser. “Good boy, well done. What here makes this child the demon spawn? Speak clearly now.”

Everyone watched apprehensively. The square was quiet, listening to the accuser speak.

“He’s weak. Or was. Then, in one day, he suddenly got strong!” He pointed to two others. “You can ask my friends. They were there when it happened.”

Stephen and Wesley stepped forward, nodding their heads. Redflame looked at his men, signaling with his eyes. They weaved through the children, separating Artien from everyone else. Anabelle felt her heart clench, urging George.

“Honey!”

“George pushed his way to the front of the group of parents. “This is nonsense! He is my son.”

Redflame raised his hand. “Let the child finish speaking. Now,” he addressed to Tom, “What happened, exactly?”

“Wesley, Stephen, and I – we were all walking along when he,” Tom pointed at Artien, “picked a fight with us. He always liked to try to get the better of me. I’ve always managed to defend myself. This time he wanted it as three against one! Who would do that?!”

“I see, I see,” Redflame said. “What happened next?”

“He beat us, three to one! He’d gotten stronger. No one gets that strong that fast. Of course, I could only run. I,” he looked at his feet, not meeting Redflame’s eyes, “I was scared.”

Redflame squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “You were right to be scared. When a demon spawn awakes to his demon self, all semblance of humanity fades and only a darkness remains. After that is only blood and death.”

Redflame faced Artien, walking to stand a few feet from him. He moved his hand to his waist, atop his sword. He became serious and solemn. “What is your name?”

“Artien.” He said it weakly. He’d never been confronted by someone so directly. Not when he was singled out. His heart pounded, sweat coating his jittery hands.

“Do you refute his words?” Redflame mentioned Tom.

“Yes. It was them that picked a fight with me.”

“How could a single boy beat three others?” Redflame inquired. “This needs to be answered. Before have you ever won a fight against him?”

“No.” Artien shook his head. “I had chosen not to. To do so would go against what my father teaches me.”

Redflame glanced at George. “What does he teach you?”

“That strength should not be misused.” Artien looked at his dad, who nodded at him with a frown. “He taught me to be strong not with strength, but with wisdom.”

Redflame nodded. “That sounds like the training of the capitol army. Come, show me a few moves he has taught you.”

George nodded to his son again, silently hoping his words on magic and force from before still held sway in his son’s mind.

Artien let out a low breath, remembering the basics. He pulled out the moves he had practiced thousands of times since little. Strong Punches, steady feet, swift movements, and a clear gaze. Ten moves in total. A basic set passed to the lower folk of any major household guard or soldier.

When he finished, he stood and exhaled a long breath. He faced Redflame. “That is what I was taught.”

Redflame smiled softly. “It seems I was mistaken. As for the demon spawn, I would say you are not him. Demons are clever – they often hide amongst the sheep.” He turned, facing Tom. “That puts you as the only suspect.”

“W-what?” Tom clutched his father’s arm, instantly terrified. “I’m not it! I’m human!”

His father roared angrily. “My son is no demon! He was born to my wife and I saw it with my own eyes. He’s entirely of my blood!”

Something seemed to change as Tom’s eyes lightened in hope. His gaze turned to Artien, his finger again pointing. “That’s right. He’s not born here! He’s an orphan!”

With some surprise, Redflame turned back to Artien. “Is this true?” When Artien said nothing, only going pale, his eyes turned to George. “He is not your relation by blood?”

George’s face went grim. “He is as of my blood. My wife and I adopted him as a baby. Nothing untoward or strange has happened in the 15 years he’s been with us.”

“Yet, everyone else here was born as a relation of someone already established long in the village.”

Redflame spread his arms, encompassing all people. “He is the only one suspect.”

“He is not a demon.” George carefully said.

“He’s always been weird!” Tom yelled out. “He’s always by himself. I see him go into the forest all the time. No one except a group of hunters can go in there and come back out!”

One of the mentioned hunters spoke loudly, “That is true. With so many magic beasts out there, it is too dangerous to go in a group. Children would stand no chance alone.”

George fisted his hands at his sides, his muscles bunching. “It is not so dangerous if one stays close to the village. He has never gone far, nor been in danger.”

Tom, feeling the conversation in his favor, continued. “He’s never made friends with anyone! Everyone here feels something off about him. Maybe it’s because he’s not human!”

Redflame considered all words seriously. “Hmm. It is true to hide oneself is to keep a low profile. For 15 years… indeed a capable feat of demons. There is too much to immediately refute the accused of suspicion. It is decided. He must come with me to the capitol.”

Anabelle finally broke her nervous silence. “No!”

“I’ll vouch for him!” Mr. Greenwood yelled. Clare looked on in fear.

“Me t-“ Joseph was cut off by his father’s hand over his mouth.

“He’s done work for me, and never complained. He’s a hard worker and honest boy.” Mr. Greenwood persisted.

Redflame confronted him. “Has there never been something odd with him while in your presence?”

“Odd?” Mr. Greenwood thought, remembering all the times chores and requests were finished in wicked fast time.

“I see you have doubt as well.” Redflame said. He motioned to his men. “Gather the boy. We will take him to get tested.”

“Please, reconsider! He is like my own son, and is very dear.” Old Joe came forward.

“Do not worry, village elder. If he is human, he will be released.”

Two of the mercenaries came forward, rope in hand. Artien took a step back at the sight and looked to his father. George, unable to resist the threat to his son, came forward.

“Stop!”

“Please, let him go.” Old Joe pleaded again.

Redflame raised a hand, and all mercenaries drew their weapons. “If you force me to stop, you are admitting that all in the village are colluding to hide a demon. This will result in all being slain. Are you sure?”

Old Joe hesitated. He looked to Artien, feeling desperate. His eyes hardened. “If this is the only way – but don’t harm him!”

“Father, how could you?” Anabelle fainted, her words whispered. Nearby women caught her, slowly lowering her to the ground.

George charged forward, punching the nearest mercenary and taking his sword. “No one touches my son!”

He swung the sword, his old body responding reflexively to his command. He clashed with another mercenary, feeling his body tremor as an old wound ached deep in his side. He pushed aside the pain, landing a kick squarely in the opponent’s stomach and sending him flying. He looked towards Artien, stopping as he saw the knife against his neck.

Redflame smirked. “If you wish harm to him, keep coming. If not, then drop the weapon.”

Artien kept absolutely still, feeling Redflame’s dagger’s edge barely brush against his skin, letting a red droplet sprout and fall onto the ground.

With no choice, George dropped the sword. He was jumped form behind by the original mercenary he punched and held. Afterwards, Artien was quickly bound, a lead rope held by a mercenary.

Redflame let out a sharp whistle, his horse responding. It jumped the small fence and raced to his side. The other horses, well-trained, followed suit to their respective owners. “Mount up!” Redflame mounted his steed. The other mercenaries jumped upon theirs. Of the party, this left Artien being led and walking on foot.

Anabelle woke to see her son being led away. She knelt, hands to her face, and wept. George went to her side and held her, watching as his only son walked out of sight.

Artien was led out of the village. The group went at an easy pace.

Eventually, the rough road bended and they went out of sight of the village. His heart still pounding, his mind raced frantically. Never had something like this happened before. He looked at the group ahead of him.

All of them were quiet, listening to the woods around them. Even the nearby forest was quiet. No birds or small beasts made a noise. It was as if he was walking to his death and they all could sense it. Like a mourning of his dismal future.

Unable to endure the quiet, he cleared his throat. “U-um, what’s going to happen to me?”

None of the mercs replied. He grew bolder.

“I’m not really a demon spawn. I’ve never done magic or whatnot. My father said he hadn’t sensed magic for the 15 years I’ve been here. Really, I’m not a threat…”

Redflame stopped his horse. The whole party stopped. He nodded to the merc holding the rope. The merc cursed, jumping off his horse. He came straight to Artien, slugging him in the face so fast he didn’t have a chance to defend.

Artien felt the force shake through his head. He fell onto the dirt ground, dazed. He stared up at the merc in shock. The merc spat at his feet, eyes full of anger.

“Shut it, you little shit! I don’t want to hear another word out of you or I’ll beat you until you can’t stand and drag your ass through the dirt behind my horse.”

The merc jumped back on his horse and the group continued. The rope tying Artien’s hands was jerked forward and he unsteadily climbed to his feet. He didn’t dare make another sound.

They continue to move for the rest of the daylight. As dusk came, Redflame chose a small clearing next to the road for the camp sight. A fire was started, horses tethered, and a meal going soon after. Artien was tied to a tree at the edge of camp, far from the fire’s warmth. He sat in the dirt, leaning against the tree.

Tom, that little… Once he was free, he’d get him back. He’d beat him until his limbs creaked. Unless he could get free sooner.

Looking around at the camp, the idea was dismissed. These were battle-hardened mercenaries. Bandits, really. The way they acted in the village and outside of it were as vastly different as night and day. They were crude, disgusting, and cruel. They had yet to give Artien any water or food. He was sure to go hungry the night.

As the last of the daylight died, the group ate their fill of some kind of meat stew. The scent tantalized Artien, making his stomach growl. After that they drank. They then took turns relieved themselves in the nearby forest. All of this went on, but Artien’s full attention went only to the elf.

He was the leader of the group. In the last few minutes, he’d been eyeing Artien at the tree and talking to a merc. Artien felt shivers as it happened. Eventually, Artien stood up as a merc left the fire and headed towards him. The merc reached the tree and untied the rope. He rolled it up until the lead to Artien was a short three feet.

“Come on, follow me.” The merc tugged on the rope. “Hurry up. I don’t got all night.”

Artien was led away from the firelight and further into the forest. His heart started pounding all over again as thoughts on how he was going to die went through his head. He regretted it, then, that this happened to him. That he was powerless to stop it.

It was then that anger swelled up. Anger at the injustice of it. Anger as his powerlessness. At his passiveness. If he was going to die, then he was going to fight back!

He eyed the unaware merc in front of him. He jumped, swinging his hands over the head of the merc and pulling back.

“Gagh!”

They fell, the merc landing on top of Artien. He squeezed harder. The merc struggled, then suddenly his strength seemed to increase dramatically. The merc stood, grabbing Artien’s arms and throwing him over his back. Artien flew to the ground, the air knocked out of him.

The guard gasped for air and grinned down at him. “It’s good you have a bit of fight in you. Now it won’t be so boring.”

The rope was again tied to a tree, leaving the merc’s hands free. The merc grabbed him by the hair and lifted him to his feet. He threw a punch squarely in Artien’s stomach. Artien doubled over, gasping. The merc, not giving him a chance to recover, swept a leg at the backs of his knees. Artien fell to the ground again, a boot kicking him in the side.

“Tonight will be a long night.” The merc said, and laughed as he continued to beat him. “Come on! Get back up. Tell me who your demon parents are. Where did they go?” He kicked Artien several more times. “Hurry up and tell me. Better yet, be slow.”

Half the night passed before Artien was dragged back to the campsite. He was quickly tied to a tree before the merc reported back to Redflame. Oblivious to the surroundings, Artien was enshrouded in pain. He hissed as he adjusted himself slightly. A deep, intense sting of pain rose from one of his ribs. Probably broken.

One of the mercs he’d yet to meet arrived, crouching at his side. Surprisingly, a soft, feminine voice spoke.

“Where does it hurt?” She asked.

Artien focused his eyes on her face, yet it was hard to see. The night was dark and her back was to the firelight. He kept silent for a bit, then motioned to his side. “Ribs,” He gritted between his teeth.

“Let me see.” She reached down, resting both hands over the broken rib’s location. He hissed as she pressed lightly down. “Hold still for a moment.”

She was quiet a moment, then a warmth spread from her hands. She muttered under her breath as the warmth strengthened. Artien watched in amazement as a soft, green glow began to emit from her hands. Immediately he felt relief from the pain. The intense pain lessened to only a discomfort.

“Where else does it hurt?”

She continued to treat him. After a few minutes, she retracted her hands. She retrieved something from her side and pressed it into his hands. “Eat this.” She said simply, before she returned to the camp and lay on the ground to sleep.

Artien lifted his hands and made out a small piece of bread. He ate it stealthily, sure he wasn’t supposed to have anything. This woman – she was a magic user. Instead of feeling despair in the situation, his eyes blazed with passion. Magic! Real magic!

Suddenly, a thought struck him. While they slept, he could meditate. Heal himself and circulate his mana. If he could get good enough, he might have enough strength to escape before they either reached the capitol or he died of his wounds.

He sat up, leaned against the tree, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. To those at the camp, he looked like he was sleeping. As he entered into mediation and began circulating his mana, the woman mercenary looked at him sharply. Her eyes widened before a gleam was within. Her eyes closed and she too entered mediation to recover her mana.